


certain dark things

by multifandom_fanfic_writer



Series: Fics Hannibal Would Cook For [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, BAMF Will Graham, BDSM, Bondage, Cannibalism, Choking, Dom/sub, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannnibal hides his dynamic, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Plot With Porn, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Hannibal, Virginity Kink, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, but also there are a lot of feelings, but different - i hope youll like it, communication and consent! in hannigram? yes we can!, d/s verse, its acutally mostly plot and a little porn as a treat, or a little at least, which is like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29684736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandom_fanfic_writer/pseuds/multifandom_fanfic_writer
Summary: In a world where people can be a Dominant or a Submissive, Hannibal has not once hesitated to hide his true dynamic. That is, until he meets Will Graham.“Now, you willkneel.”Will opened his mouth and issued his Command. And Hannibal, who had spent his whole life defying his dynamic, who had never once in his life followedanyone’scommands-fell.to.his.knees.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Fics Hannibal Would Cook For [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2115867
Comments: 99
Kudos: 288





	1. a demon, which is only a god too strange for humans to understand

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hiding in Plain Sight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/441933) by [Kalimyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalimyre/pseuds/Kalimyre). 



> This fic came into being because there was One (1) scene in my head I wanted to write...  
> 25k words later... Oops?  
> Inspired by Hiding in Plain Sight and literally all Hannigram works by [Everybreathagift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreathagift/pseuds/everybreathagift)!  
> (Sub Hannibal is my church. For my next fic, however, I'm thinking of a (dominant) Alpha!Hannibal fic... Whaddya think?)

_Achilles,  
_ _Patroclus’ love would have made you immortal anyway._

_Fly into the sun,  
_ _defy anyone who tells you that you cannot love Him._

_The ocean will break you fall;  
_ _even if it is by drowning you._

_(You knew he would burn you,  
_ _Icarus,  
_ _you simply thought he was worth the risk.)_

* * *

As someone thoroughly unsatisfied by his lot in life, Hannibal Lecter had made it a priority to be aware of someone’s dynamic.

Though forty percent of the population was non-dynamic, about thirty-five percent of all human kind was identifiable as a Dominant. Which left the last twenty-five percent on the other side of the coin; a Submissive.

Hannibal has always prided himself on his uniqueness. He is so much _more_ than the useless pigs who roam this world, from the rude to the pleasingly intelligent. He is not afraid to show this in subtle ways; his education, sharp barbs and well-received papers. Style, rarely seen in anything but a three-piece suit. Skills, be it in his own name or a pseudonym.

His dynamic is the only area where Hannibal is not happy at all to be part of the coveted minority.

Because although both Doms and Subs could and did maintain happy relationships with non-dynamics, there was something undeniably _more_ about a Dom/Sub pairing.

Hannibal has long since decided this is the one area in his life he’d gladly do without the _more_.

The doctor is very aware of who he portrays himself to be at any moment in his life. A different person suit for every occasion.

The kind mentor, with wise smiles who answers questions unasked. The esteemed member of Baltimore’s upper-class, with a confident gait and mild but captivating voice, always the centre of attention.

The Dominant, with his chin held up high and his shoulders squared, meeting people’s eyes squarely and confidently. A calm but commandeering presence which makes people like to throw themselves at his feet.

There is not a single human being on this earth worthy enough to even consider submitting himself to. They are beneath him; they could not dare to dream to stand beside him, never mind above him. The very idea is preposterous.

In his forty-nine years of walking this earth, he has never had a single moment of doubt about this deduction. There was nothing that gave him even the slightest inclination to doubt this claim.

That is, until he meets Will Graham.

Because as Will fires the gun again, and again, and again; as the bullets pierce Garret Jacob Hobbs and blood splatters on the floor around them; as the young daughter falls to the ground, trembling, a look on her face that is not surprised;

As Will stands there for an eternal second, watching Garret Jacob Hobbs die;

all Hannibal wants to do is fall on his knees and bare his neck.

Press his head against Will’s thighs and wait to be given an order, quiet and peaceful like Hannibal can never allow himself to be.

The urge is sudden and intense. It fills his bones and his blood and travels through every cell of his body before he fully realizes what the feeling tugging inside of his chest means. His knees tremble and only his iron will prevents him from kneeling on the blood-soaked floor right this second.

Hannibal does the only thing he can, and freezes.

Will is unaware of the crisis he has just unlocked within Hannibal. All his focus is on Garett Jacob Hobbs.

The moment passes. Hannibal can move again, forcing the crisis to the back of his mind.

The next moment, Hobbs is dead.

The daughter falls to the ground, gurgling. Will is next to her in a second, trembling hands grasping clumsily at a delicate neck.

Hannibal sees himself kneeling next to Will as if he is watching someone else perform the motions – slowly, casually, betraying not one inch of the inner conflict currently raging within him. His hands are calm and steady as they replace Will’s on Abigail’s neck, and Will shoots him a look of shock and gratefulness that Hannibal does not answer. He is not sure he can raise his eyes if he wanted to.

He does not want to.

This is the second time Will Graham surprises him.

Hannibal prays it is the last.

* * *

When Hannibal first meets Will Graham, his first thought is that he is a Sub.

Fidgety, tense, avoiding eye-contact. Then Hannibal cocks his head; takes in the line of his shoulders, hunched but tight, the way his hands clench as he speaks to Jack, how he does not hesitate to reply to Hannibal’s taunt.

A non-dynamic, then. Then, more importantly; an empathy disorder.

How very interesting.

It is only later, when Will has left Jack’s office in a huff and Hannibal officially consents to help the FBI on their investigation – his pleasant demeanour betraying nothing of the amusement and anticipation swirling around in his mind – that Jack shakes his hand with a smile and reveals that Hannibal his insight was wrong.

This is the first time Will Graham surprises him.

“Thank you for working with Will,” Jack says with a brisk smile, a Dom used to getting his way, “he can be difficult to work with.”

Hannibal inclines his head. “I am not one to shy away from unique personalities.”

Jack laughs good-naturedly. “Good, good. Because Will is certainly unique. As an investigator and a Dom, both.”

The only indicator of Hannibal’s surprise is the way his eyebrow raises fractionally. “Will is a Dominant?”

Jack nods. “He is, though not a very,” he pauses, looking for the right words, eventually adding ironically, “ _dominant_ one. He’s often mistaken for a non-dynamic, the same way I think you are often mistaken for a Dom.”

Hannibal’s mouth twitches downwards. Jack Crawford has, as Hannibal suspected, access to his files. Though displeasing, it was unavoidable. While Hannibal has been very careful to hide his true dynamic ever since he was a child, it is impossible to fake being a Dom. He cannot give Commands infused with Dominance as Doms can, so he had to settle for a non-dynamic.

Not that Hannibal has ever presented himself as anything less than the most powerful man in the room. And there are very little situations in the day-to-day life where someone would be forced to use their Command – on the contrary, it has been strictly regulated everywhere except the bedroom and law enforcement for almost three decades, now.

It also has its uses; known as a Dom to most, only his ‘closest’ acquaintances know his ‘true’ lack of dynamic.

All in all, it may be prudent for Jack to underestimate him like this. It is always smart to keep your enemies close.

“Which is something I do not often care to correct,” he responds to Jack with a smile inviting the other to share the secret. To form a pact of two as the first seedlings of a friendship are sown, to surely flourish afterwards. Jack smiles back.

“Though I do have to ask, do you know if Will has any kind of partner in his life, romantic or otherwise?”

Jack shakes his head with a frown. “No. Will is alone, as far as I know. He has dogs, but that’s it. He’s not a very social one. Which is why I am starting to become a little concerned about him. I need him to make it out of those crime scenes in one piece.”

Will Graham is turning out to be even more interesting than Hannibal first thought.

“Don’t worry Jack,” Hannibal says with a benevolent smile, “I will endeavour to take good care of him.”

* * *

Will looks strangely at home in the grandness of Hannibal’s office. It has only been three days since this unique profiler killed a man and sent Hannibal’s unshaken convictions rocking to their core.

Three days has been more than enough for Hannibal to rebuild and re-armour himself against the likes of Will Graham.

It will not happen again. Hannibal is sure of it.

“Did you just rubber-stamp me?”

Hannibal smiles. “Yes. Jack Crawford may lay his weary head to rest knowing he didn’t break you, and our conversation can proceed unobstructed by paperwork.”

After not-so-subtly implying their shared responsibility towards Abigail, a pawn on the board who may turn into a queen yet one day, the elusive profiler finally makes his way back down from the mezzanine.

The Dom had not stood still for a single moment yet.

“Do you feel uneasy in my office, Will?” Hannibal asked.

Will shrugged. Studied the garden through the window. “It is a very different environment than what I’m used to.”

“Could you describe your home to me?”

Will turned his head. His eyes flickered towards Hannibal’s face, only to stop at his tie. “Simple. Practical. Warm.” _The opposite of whatever this place is_. Will does not need to say it out loud.

Hannibal’s lips quirked upward without his permission. How beautifully brisk this man could be. “How many dogs do you have, Will?”

Will’s forehead creases in a frown.

“I could count at least three different kinds of dog hair on your coat,” Hannibal elaborates.

The frown smoothed out. “Seven. They’re all strays. Or used to be.”

Eyes on the defensive hunch of Will’s shoulders, Hannibal decided to leave the stray comment for later, instead asking about something he could not help to be curious about.

“No other partner in your home or life? Sexual or otherwise?”

“No.” Short and abrasive, Will clearly did not feel like talking about this. If only Hannibal was so easily deterred.

“Having a pack of dogs must soothe your Dominant instincts at least a little,” which was a scientifically proven fact, “though it is nothing like putting another human being under. May I ask why you have decided to not seek a partner until now?”

For a moment, it seemed like Will would not answer. Hannibal let the silence stretch, and in the end, even Will Graham could not bear it forever.

“What makes you think this is my own choice?”

Hannibal smiled. “I imagine there are plenty of people out there willing. Aesthetically pleasing, highly educated, successful career. Subs are attracted to these kinds of things,” he muses as if Submissives are a rare breed, “and there are plenty of submissively inclined non-dynamics around who I imagine would not decline such a chance.”

Will’s eyes flew to Hannibal’s for just the shortest of moments. The moment their eyes met Hannibal felt a strange kind of thrill wash over him.

“Hm,” Will responded neutrally, before sighing and putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m not much of a traditional Dom, and not everybody is interested in that.” Hannibal is about to ask him to elaborate when Will opens his mouth once more.

“Besides, I have not met anyone worthy enough of my worship yet.”

Hannibal’s pupils dilate. Not _once_ in his many years as an psychiatrist and doctor alike has he heard a Dominant describe their own dynamic in such a submissive way.

Reverent.

Like Hannibal would want to be treated.

Will’s eyes widen and flow up to meet Hannibal’s. There is colour on his face, shyness creeping into his eyes yet his chin juts up proudly. Will is surprised at himself, the strangeness he has just revealed, yet he is trying to hide his insecurity at his confession.

And somehow, once again, Hannibal feels the urge to _submit_ lurch violently inside of himself.

For a single moment, seeing Will bare his inner self so bravely in front of him, Hannibal wants nothing more than to be on his knees besides his Dom, letting Will run a hand through his hair. Assuring his doubts, reaffirming his worthiness, confirming that Will is the one Hannibal has chosen to worship him.

And Will’s pupils dilate in return.

All of Hannibal’s walls snap shut within an instant. Whatever expression was on his face disappears, hidden behind complete blankness. The feeling is locked away in the deepest vestiges of his mind palace to examine and exterminate later, thoughts ripped apart as soon as they start to form.

“An unbound Dom without any outlet for his or her urges can become unstable,” Hannibal says as he turns around to shuffle uselessly though some papers on his desk, “especially at your age.”

The barb has its intended effect. “What,” Will says aggressively, defensively, though there is not an inch of Dominance in his voice, “are you implying I just need to find a pretty Sub and fuck the trauma out of me?”

Despite himself, Hannibal feels the ghost of a smile play on his lips. He turns around once more, meeting Will’s gaze –surprisingly, still on him – and staring the other down. There is not a single moment he can show weakness.

“It does not hurt to try it.”

“Please,” Will barks out a laugh without humour in it, “you were supposed to be better than that, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal flashes his teeth. “I will endeavour to be more interesting to you, then” he adds, referencing their earlier conversation.

Will is still holding his gaze. “I’m sure you will,” he says.

Somehow, Hannibal is not sure he has won this round.

It is a novel experience.

As Will Graham surprises him for the third time, Hannibal cannot find it within himself to regret it.

* * *

“I heard what happened with Garret Jacob Hobbs.”

Will raises his head from where he is bent over his notes as his classroom empties to meet the welcome sight of Alana Bloom walking towards him.

His classroom with the door open is apparently public enough for them to be in the room alone together, he notes with a wry smile.

Still, Will cannot help but smile. Alana is kind, pretty, and even though she is a Sub she is not afraid to stand up for herself or others. Even against a more domineering Dom like Jack.

“How are you doing, Will?” Alana says as she stops a respectful distance away from him.

Will shrugs. “As well as I can be, considering.” He winces a little. Considering what? The nightmares? The insomnia? The ever-present and ever-suppressed need to seek someone out who will have him, accept him, and worship them with everything he has?

The fact that the face of Garret Jacob Hobbs is haunting him in his dreams?

Please. Who’d want a broken Dom like him.

“I heard Hannibal cleared you for field work, so that’s good news.” Alana says kindly with a strange kind of smile playing on her lips.

Will’s eyes trail along her lips, her shoulders, back to his papers. “You are familiar with Dr. Lecter, I take it?”

Alana nods, and when Will’s eyes flicker upwards he can see the admiration in her eyes.

“He was my mentor at John Hopkins,” she says. “I have a lot of respect and admiration for him,” she adds, and _oh_ , Will thinks. How ironic.

“He’s an interesting man,” Will says, then adds deliberately, “very sure of himself. Confident.”

Alana nods, then looks around at the empty classroom and leans closer. “I know you don’t like your fellow Doms much,” she says, as if that’s not an understatement, “but I’ll tell you a secret about Hannibal. I’m sure Jack knows, so it won’t be strange if you do as well, though Hannibal does not like the knowledge flaunted. He only told me well into my second year of my residency.”

Will’s eyebrows rise high.

“He’s actually a non-dynamic,” Alana says lowly.

At Will’s expression, she adds, “I know, I did not believe it myself at first as well. Hannibal is always so in control of himself. I like to joke that Mother Nature must have made a mistake,” she adds with a conspiratorial smile. “But it suits him. He is very kind.”

“I’m sure he is,” Will adds neutrally.

Alana straightens and clears her throat. “Anyway, I’m sure Jack won’t hesitate to call in Hannibal’s assistance more often now that he’s gotten him to tag along once. Jack’s persistent like that.”

Will nods. “Yeah, yeah he is. Speaking of Jack,” he says as the man himself walks into the classroom.

“Will, Alana,” Jack greets the both of them and immediately gets down to business.

“Will. There’s something I need for you to see.”

* * *

The garden was weirdly beautiful.

The scene had been otherworldly, the peacefulness prevalent so deep in the woods mixing weirdly with the grotesqueness of the mushroom garden.

As Will enters the morgue he can hear Zeller and Price arguing with each other, the two non-dynamics always at each other’s throat to prove themselves to the others. If you asked Will, they would be better off working of that tension in a more productive manner. But nobody ever did.

As Will shares a smile with Beverly, the female Dom always surprisingly good-natured and not inclined to showing off, he knows he is not the only one who thinks so.

Zeller starts to explain the forensic team’s findings to Will and Jack as Price points out the different areas of the bodies.

Will takes the time handing everyone their coffee, getting grateful smiles in return. The line of Jack’s shoulders relaxes slightly, which is good for everyone.

When Zeller and Price are done, Jack turns to Will.

“What do you think?” Jack asks tensely, his voice only barely tipping the line of socially acceptable Dominance. Will holds back a frown.

He’s glad he was able to talk this out with Dr. Lecter already.

“It’s a man,” Will starts, thinking back on what he’s deduced from the scene and the evidence here, “a Dominant. He’s seeking connection, but he cannot find it, not even with a Sub. And what he can find is not good enough for him, not what he needs. He’s jealous of those who can connect, which is why his victims are both Dominants and Submissives.”

Thinking back on the sea of dark green and brown, moss-covered fungus the centre of the tableaux, Will breathes out slowly. “It’s about connection. He started connecting humans in another way.”

“The mushrooms are about connecting the victims?” Jack asks, frowning.

Will bites his lip. “He thinks he’s helping them. Giving them the one thing we all want: companionship.”

“So he’s looking for companionship,” Beverly concludes. “The perp’s lonely. He wants someone to see him.”

Will thinks back to Hannibal, just a few hours earlier, the two of them sitting opposite each other in the office chairs. Bend towards each other, two vines curving towards sunlight that was created when they met.

“Don’t we all?”

* * *

As Hannibal goes about his week, there is a strange longing within him.

There are a wide variety of Doms and Subs in the world who chose to represent themselves in a variety of ways. A different flavour for each couple, for each person.

Somehow, Hannibal’s eyes stray where they did not do so before.

He attends a guest lecture on hypnotherapy. Instead of his focus being on the – admittedly mediocre – lecturer, his eyes trail off to the side. His Sub is sitting peacefully next to the lectern, eyes closed and collar heavy on her throat. Hannibal wants to feel disgust or repulsion about such a public spectacle, but somehow it is clearer than ever to see how happy the woman is, sitting there and listening to her Dom speak. She does not move a single muscle for the entire forty-five minutes. When the lecture is done, the Dom strokes his hand through her hair, murmurs words of praise. The happy sigh she gives follows Hannibal out of the lecture room.

At the fromagerie, as Hannibal lingers over the cheeses, a man walks by with a slim but elegant blue collar adorning his neck. He gives his order demurely, smiles as the cashier teases him about behaving good-naturedly, and nods politely at Hannibal as he leaves. The sight of him makes Hannibal’s throat feel bare.

He leaves the shop agitated, not trusting himself to be as polite as usual, and decides to take a calming walk through the local park.

A mistake. It is even worse here. Hannibal does not usually pay the people around him even the slightest bit of attention. Today, it seems his eyes are drawn to them unwillingly.

He passes a pair of women, one sitting on the bench reading a newspaper, the other folded up like a footchair underneath her. As he passes by, his sensitive ears pick up the Sub’s Whine, the mirror of a Dominant’s Command. The Dom immediately springs into action, hand moving reassuringly to the back of her neck, and the Sub settles. Hannibal forces himself to not react.

A small and pretty man, leading his large and muscular partner on a leash. The crowd gives both of them space and the proud slant of the shorter man’s mouth makes Hannibal’s chest ache with longing.

The Dom’s eyes are full of pride. The colour reminds him of Will.

Hannibal decides this was enough. One last trip, and then he’ll call it a day. Maybe he’ll get his rarely-used handcuffs out to use them on himself as he resolutely does not think of Will.

Tilting his chin up with and steeling his gaze in such a way that it makes a Sub passing him by blush, Hannibal makes his way to his final destination.

* * *

Sometimes, it seemed to Hannibal that whomever is up or down there looking at him, they must like him very much.

Because as Hannibal is standing in line at the pharmacy for his once-a-month restocking of (a part of) the array of chemicals he keeps in his office, he looks through the reflective surface of the empty television screen at the cameras visible from behind the counter at notices something peculiar.

There are several armed SWAT-members currently entering the building.

It does not take long to connect the dots. Apprerantly the FBI – Will, he corrects himself – finally realized the diabetic connection. One of these good pharmacists behind the counter might not be as good as they pretend to be.

And, judging by the nervous twitch of one E. Stammets’ eye, it must be the very same pharmacist currently helping the young woman in front of him.

Hannibal found himself faced with a choice.

He could do nothing, in which case this E. Stammets’ would likely notice the approaching SWAT team in time and escape, temporarily if not permanently. The man had such an interesting mindset, and on some level Hannibal would be saddened to see such a promising young man be put down so soon.

He could also intervene, in which case the SWAT-team would be there in time. In this crowded room, it was likely Stammets would have the chance to take a hostage with the gun he had hidden poorly under his lab jacket, which would also create the most interesting situation.

Furthermore, it was extremely likely Jack and Will had accompanied the SWAT team inside the building. Jack would never let his own manhunt end without him, and Will was either dragged along or too curious not to be there.

Which would mean he would see Will handle another potentially volatile situation.

Hannibal made his decision.

“Excuse me,” he said just as the woman in front of him started signing the package, “if I may be so bold as to interrupt?”

Stammets and the blonde woman turned to him simultaneously, and Hannibal put on his most polite smile for them both. The woman was instantly charmed. A Sub, Hannibal noted distantly. Uncollared.

“I am a licenced doctor myself, though I do not practice at the current time,” Hannibal said slowly, dragging for time as much as possible. “My eye could not help but fall upon your prescription, madame. Professional curiosity, as you hopefully understand.”

Stammets gave Hannibal a suspicious look, but the woman only tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, giving Hannibal a shy smile that was quite charming.

“What about it?” she asked.

“Well,” Hannibal continued, counting the seconds and readying himself, “I was wondering if either of you have any opinions or insights to share about the recent development of-”

Luckily, he was saved from inventing a new medicine for diabetics by the harsh shouting of the SWAT-team behind him.

Hannibal took a moment to reflect on the irony of being in a position to feel glad about the FBI invading the building.

“ ** _Freeze!_** ”

The Dominant command washed over the group, and immediately most of them froze. The Sub woman in front of Hannibal locked up completely as all around him people either froze or flew into action as the SWAT-team stepped into view.

Hannibal ignored the moderately powerful command with the ease of many years of practice, instead choosing to take several steps backwards, angling himself so he could see both Stammets and where he estimated Jack and Will would approach from.

In front of him, Stammets reacted swiftly and beautifully.

The frozen woman was now trembling with fear as Stammets held a gun against her head, baring his teeth at the onlookers. He was not cowed by the command at all. It took a truly strong Dominant to Command other Doms, and whichever of the FBI’s puppets just tried to, they did not succeed.

The woman was dragged awkwardly over the counter, bend backwards like a puppet, eyes wide and watering. Stammets was still behind the counter, his movement limited, but his sides covered by the walls.

The scared Sub Whined loudly.

A Whine, unlike a Dominant Command, was not something used consciously. It was a natural reaction of a Sub placed in danger, the counterweight to a Command. Impossible to fake. A Whine called upon any Dom in the area to _protect, provide, reassure_. It was a hard call to resist, even for non-dynamics, or fellow Submissives.

Hannibal never had any difficulties ignoring others’ Whines.

In front of him, Stammets clenched his teeth, but did not react any further. _Truly a interesting man_ , Hannibal thought amusedly. He wondered if the feeling of disconnection this killer must feel might influence his mental fortitude.

“Hannibal!”

Hannibal turned his head slightly, keeping Stammets and the woman in his view as the other main players entered the stage.

Will looked like he was another person entirely.

His face was hard and set in stone. His eyes were like the purest of obsidian, dark and intense, pupils dilated in adrenaline as they took in the scene in front of them.

Will zeroed in on Hannibal immediately, calling out his name soon after. Some buried instinct within Hannibal wanted to preen at that, being prioritized above all, but it did not have a chance to bubble up as Hannibal clad himself in careful self-control the moment he took the decision to intervene.

Jack, meanwhile, was holding a gun in one hand, though it was pointed to the ground. His teeth were bared in an angry grimace as he and Will walked forward to the front of the stage.

“ ** _Don’t come any closer_** ,” Stammets snarled, but his command was weak. The release of the safety mechanism so close to the woman’s head, however, was not, and both Jack and Will obeyed.

The SWAT-team around them had their guns trained on Stammets, but Hannibal noted that none of them possessed sniper rifles or any kind of finesse weapon. They would not be able to take the shot like this.

Such a shame.

“Lay down your weapon and let the woman go,” Jack said evenly, following protocol even in a tense situation. Commendable. Also polite.

Stammets did not move.

Jack took a breath and his eyes flared. Hannibal mentally braced himself. What an excellent opportunity to test Jack’s mettle, he thought fleetingly, and once more thanked whichever deity was watching over him.

“ ** _Drop the weapon._** ”

Jack’s command was strong. It was, like all other Dominant commands, a sledgehammer battering against Hannibal’s shields. It was like an arrow coated in sweet poison, whispering to him _let it go, let me in_ as it tried to pierce his walls. The sweetness did nothing to take away from its lethalness. It was a force pressing in all around him, around his mind and soul rather than something physical, testing muscles that did not even exist in the physical plane.

It was not enough to break the tall and sturdy walls of Hannibal’s mind.

The doctor’s hands did not twitch. Not a single muscle on his body moved, and he felt satisfaction flood him.

Jack was strong, stronger than most, though not the strongest Hannibal had ever resisted. If worst came to worst, there was nothing to fear on that front.

Stammets had grit his teeth, the muscles in his jaw working, and for one moment Hannibal lamented the fact that this play would have such a banal ending, but then the killer straightened his shoulders once more.

“If you do that again, I’ll kill her,” he threatened, though there was no true bite in it. He would be gunned down the moment he did so, and Stammets knew that.

Still, there was little the FBI could do as long as he had her like this.

A stalemate. Hannibal was interested to see who would break first.

Someone took a step forward from the corner of his eye. Hannibal’s heart sped up as he saw Will finally make his move.

 _What will you do,_ he mused. He estimated Will would use his empathy, to bargain. It would be the smart move. Maybe Will would even pull out his gun and end Stammets right there – though one could only hope.

“I know what you’re looking for, Eldon,” Will began softly, sympathetically. Almost submissively, though there was a touch of confidence in it that made it more parental.

Such a fascinating approach. Such a fascinating man.

Hannibal wanted to tear Will apart cell by cell, until he understood him completely; then glue him back together with his own hands until there were so many parts of him fused with Will it was impossible to say where Will began and Hannibal’s influence ended.

Stammets’ eyes did not hesitate to meet Will’s.

Hannibal held his breath.

“You’re looking for connection,” Will continued, taking another step forward, “for someone to see you.”

“Yes,” Stammets breathed, “yes. You see. You know. I knew you would, Will Graham.”

Will smiled. It looked benign, but Hannibal could see the darkness hidden behind it. He felt that darkness creep forward, as if embracing him, and it made his heart beat even faster.

“I do,” Will said kindly, “I see.”

“You do,” Stammets whispered.

“You know what to do now,” Will continued, almost hypnotic, and it was like the entire room held its breath.

“I do?” Stammets responded, and for the first time, he looked unsure.

Will nodded benevolently. When he opened his mouth, it was not like an enemy commanding an opponent to yield, or a master demanding a slave to obey; it was like a friend, a loved one, holding your hand. Intimate.

“Now,” Will said, “you will **_kneel_**.”

It spread through the crowd like a shockwave.

Will’s voice was kind, and firm, and _commanding_. It was different than the sledgehammers all other Dominants wielded – instead of the feeling of being forced, Will’s command came from a very different place. Not an arrow, but a gentle breeze, a wave of soothing warmth. _Let me take care of you_ , it said, _I know what you need. I will make sure you get it_.

It was soft, and warm, and it was everything Hannibal was absolutely, wildly, completely unprepared for.

Will opened his mouth, issued his Command, and Hannibal, who had spent his whole life defying his dynamic, who had never once in his life followed _anyone’s_ commands-

fell

to

his

 _knees_.

The rush of instant gratification nearly overwhelmed him. Hannibal had to choke back a needy whine at the warmth and endorphins flooding his system, the reward divine after restraining himself for so long.

Hannibal forced his eyes shut. All of his self-control was going towards not showing anything outwardly, giving them _nothing_ but the fact that he had followed the command – _he had followed the command_ – keeping his face neutral and his back straight and his hands closed in a fist. The picture of a non-dynamic trying ( _and failing_ ) to resist a Dominant command.

He was barely aware of what was going on around him. Later, Hannibal would realize that literally everyone had fallen to their knees at Will’s command, including Stammets himself. A neat solution; the countertop cleanly separating Stammets and his hostage. The only ones left standing were Will, Jack – with shaking knees he would never admit to – and two out of the ten Dominant SWAT members with admirable restraint. One of them even had the presence of mind to move forward and secure the hostage.

Hannibal hadn’t even been the first to hit the ground, nor the first non-Submissive; but at this moment, Hannibal registered nothing of that.

The only thing that registered was the fact that even with his back turned, he knew Will’s eyes were on him.

* * *

“Damn, Graham. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Sergeant Wells, one of the officers Will was at least passingly familiar with, approached the three of them from where they were watching the police car containing Stammets drive away.

Will did not even turn to acknowledge the officer, preferring instead to keep his eyes on the retreating car.

“I’ve chosen him for a reason,” Jack responded as Will remained silent, clapping Will on the back jovially.

Wells nodded his agreement. As a non-dynamic, he was clearly not embarrassed at all to being one of the first officers on the floor after Will issued his Command.

On his other side, Hannibal was silent, watching the retreating car with the same intensity he normally watched Will with.

Will bit his lip.

Only after Wells wandered off did Will turn around, Hannibal unconsciously mirroring his movement. The empath did his best to not react to that at all.

“Really though, Will,” Jack said lowly as soon as the officer had left hearing range, “why did you not tell me you could issue such strong Commands earlier? That is an important asset in any kind of case!”

Will took a deep breath to calm himself, then slowly raised his eyes to fully meet Jack’s. “I don’t want to be abused that way,” he said shortly.

Jack’s eyebrows raised. Surprisingly, it was Hannibal who spoke up first.

“Abused?” When Will turned to meet Hannibal’s eyes, the doctor’s gaze was like fire. Will quickly moved his eyes to Hannibal’s shoulder instead. “That is a very loaded word. Extreme. It can indicate unwilling violence towards the originator or the recipient both.”

Will’s gaze shifted to the ground. “It is. I don’t like using commands without mutual consent. Of me and them both. I don’t _want_ to _force_ anybody to do anything. That’s not what being a Dominant is about, no matter what ninety-five percent of my stupid dynamic would tell you.”

Jack was frowning in confusion but Hannibal only inched closer. Will swallowed thickly and ignored the instinct to draw Hannibal even closer, straight into his arms, engulfing him-

“For the recipient, you feel like you are abusing someone when you use your Command on them without first obtaining informed consent. And as the originator,” and here Hannibal cocked his head ever so slightly, “you feel abused when you have to use your Dominance on someone you have not explicitly chosen to do such a thing with.”

Will shrugged. Nodded. Looked away, pulling a hand through his hair.

Somehow, Hannibal always was better at putting things into words than Will was. Now if only the doctor would put his own desires into words.

“The important thing is, you don’t want to be used as a common goon because of the strength of your Command,” Jack summarized, both getting and missing the point entirely. “I can respect that. However, if you ever land yourself in similar situations somehow in the future, I expect for you to not hesitate to use your Dominance again.”

Will sighed deeply. “If there are lives at stake, I will not hesitate to do everything I need to do to save them.”

Jack nodded, satisfied, and left the two of them alone.

Both Hannibal and Will were silent for a moment, both watching the other. Hannibal was trying to catch Will’s eyes, expression once again inscrutable. Will was watching the line of Hannibal’s jaw. He was doing his best to not let his gaze fall on thin lips.

“I’m sorry you had to be here tonight,” Will eventually said.

“A mere coincidence. It could have been anyone. I emerge on the other side unharmed and an experience richer, so I consider myself a lucky man.”

Will frowned, then looked away, biting his lip. “Only a few seconds later and it might have been you as a hostage, instead of her. I don’t,” he paused, “I wouldn’t…”

The profiler trailed off. Will’s eyes flickered to Hannibal’s face once more, trailing his chin, the man’s intense maroon eyes still focused on him.

“I feel like I’ve dragged you into my world.”

“No,” Hannibal said confidently, “I got here on my own.”

This time, Will had no trouble meeting Hannibal’s steady gaze. He felt a warmth within him, a longing, so unfamiliar yet so welcome.

“You did, didn’t you,” Will mused. “And I’m sure you appreciate the company.”

Hannibal looked away first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the next two chapters written and halfway through the third and last chapter, but un-beta'd, so if you feel like betaing or spotted any mistakes let me know <3  
> Whole fic will be around 28k! Updates posted weekly.  
> Kudos and comments give me life!


	2. my soul is bare upon the step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is early have a treat
> 
> the reason for that is the fact that this story is now beta'd! never thought i'd see the day. damn. 
> 
> thank [jonnimir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnimir/pseuds/jonnimir) for the better grammar like god bless them

_you’d been betrothed to lunacy;  
oh, but siren of the bourn,  
how the madman adored you,  
and how he loved you still._

* * *

The following week finds them in his office once again.

“It’s not the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will says, and the conviction in his words makes Hannibal tilt his head in consideration.

“The theatricality of it all is not unlike him,” Hannibal argues, although it’s really not. If he had punished the mediocre trombone player, this would not have been the vision he would have chosen to execute.

But Hannibal can admit he admires the other killer’s attempt at artistry.

Emphasis on attempt.

“No,” Will is saying, “it just… doesn’t feel right.” When Hannibal does not say anything, Will elaborates, fidgeting. “The Chesapeake Ripper’s scenes have an underlying sense of,” twitching fingers, “ _elegance_. Of purpose. Not necessarily in the chosen victim, but in the tableaux.” Hannibal breathes in through his nose.

“He _elevates_ them,” Will says, turning around and missing the look of captivation on Hannibal’s face. “He makes them more than they were in life, he-”

Will cuts himself off, as if suddenly aware of his own words. Hannibal lets his breath go.

“It sounds like you admire him.”

“Maybe I do.”

Hannibal suppresses a smile. “How else would you describe the Ripper?”

“Precise. Patient. Confident. Creative. He is very sure about who he is.”

“Ever entertained the thought the Ripper is a she?”

Will nods. “In the beginning, yes. But it’s a he. Aside from the way the cuts are made, it’s the feel of the scene, the way he portrays his victims. I am sure it is a man.”

“Does Jack agree with your profile?”

“Most of it.”

Hannibal cocks his head ever so slightly. “Oh?”

Will’s eyes flicker towards Hannibal’s for just a moment. They are clouded.

“Jack is convinced the Ripper is a Dominant.”

Hannibal stills. “You disagree?”

“It’s recent. More of a feeling.”

Hannibal’s chest tightens just a little. He says nothing.

“There is, in the end, nothing that really speaks for either dynamic in the Ripper’s work. It is as if the Ripper has distanced himself from his dynamic, as if it is not a part of the world he lives in – or at least, he wishes it was like that.”

Will is still pacing in front of the windows of his office. The afternoon sun caresses the strands of his hair, a halo of blonde around a sea of soft brown.

“That impression leads me to believe the Ripper is not a Dom. If he was, I think he would flaunt it. So either the Ripper is a non-dynamic,” and here Will’s eyes raise until they meet Hannibal’s, “or he is a Submissive who hides it.”

For the first time since he had met his aunt Murasaki’s eyes when he was just a boy, Hannibal feels flayed open.

It is uncomfortable. It is exciting. It makes him want to bare his neck, and he takes a moment to pluck the thought out of his own mind. Examines it carefully, the pride mixed with an certain kind of eagerness that sits behind it.

Will is the first person since Murasaki to even come close to seeing the darker vestiges of his soul. Hannibal wants to pluck out his eyes and look through them at his own reflection in the mirror, so that he may understand himself even more.

“It’s an interesting theory,” Hannibal says, just the right mix of sceptical and interested. “I haven’t heard this idea from you before,” he adds neutrally, taking a step closer to his desk, scalpel within easy reach.

Will smiles wryly. Hannibal wants to trace the curve of it with his lips.

“You don’t think Jack is open to the possibility?”

“Not really. I’ve been thinking of convincing him of the possibility of the non-dynamic angle first, before anything else. It’s statistically more likely, anyway.”

“I am of the opinion Jack should always take your insights into great consideration.” Hannibal says evenly, taking a step away from his desk, chest unclenching.

“Tell that to him,” Will mutters. Sighs.

“I used to think the Ripper was a Dom as well, in the beginning. Most killers are Dominants, as you know. Doms are more aggressive, easier provoked into rash action, and their Command is a useful tool when wanting to do someone harm.”

“You don’t seem to hold your own dynamic in high regard,” Hannibal observes quietly.

“I don’t,” Will answers easily, and Hannibal cannot help but trace the outline of Will’s clenched fists with his eyes. From the side, Will’s profile is even more striking. “Most Doms are arrogant. Overconfident. They think the world should bow to them, and moreover, they think that any Sub or non-dynamic they choose to Dominate should literally fall onto their knees in reverence. That they are better than them. That’s not-” Will cuts himself off, visibly frustrated.

Hannibal feels his heart start to quicken against his will. “You don’t agree?”

Will shakes his head, pacing in front of Hannibal’s windows. “I don’t. You know I don’t. It’s a Dominant’s duty, their privilege, to care for their partner, Submissive or otherwise. To be worthy enough to provide for their partner’s needs.”

“And it is the privilege of the Submissive to be worthy enough to be cared for,” Hannibal adds, thinking back on Will’s words all those weeks ago, when he first met Will in his office.

“Have you ever found someone worthy?” Hannibal asks brazenly.

Will’s shoulders are squared. He turns around. Meets Hannibal’s gaze.

“Have you?”

Neither of them answer the question.

* * *

Hannibal has never been in a serious relationship.

He has had affairs. A few brief flings barely worthy of the name. A few women, a few men. Never Dominants. Hannibal is not fool enough to tempt fate.

Non-dynamics, a few Submissives who had been let in on his ‘secret’ as to not expect too much. It was physically enjoyable, not much else. Something to pass the time.

Another row of stitches in his person suit.

(It did not change the flavour of the meat.)

Hannibal has never been in a serious relationship. He has never wanted to be.

Yet, he sits behind his desk after Will has left his office, the profiler’s smell still prominent in the closed space.

Closes his eyes.

Thinks.

* * *

When Hannibal is called to discuss the Maestro, as they’re calling him, he is only too happy to go. Not only will it provide him with another opportunity to see Will in action, there is also the base amount of derogatory amusement he always gets whenever the FBI lets him into the base of their operations.

When he walks into the autopsy room, they are only missing Jack and Will. Zeller and Price are squabbling about something or another, and Beverly, the most tolerable of the three, is patiently waiting, smiling at him as he enters.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Lecter,” she greets him, “exited about looking at some dead bodies?”

He gives her a friendly nod in return and raises his chin precisely an inch higher than hers. “What better way to spend my afternoon?” he replies in what she takes as a joke.

Jack pushes through the doors next, nodding at all of them and looking around with a frown. “Where’s Will?” he asks, and though Hannibal is wondering the same thing, it makes his hackles rise. Will is not Jack’s to command.

Barely ten seconds later the door opens slowly to reveal the man himself. Will is holding a tray of cups, to which the entire team brightens up immediately.

Hannibal frowns internally.

“Went by the teacher’s lounge on the way down,” Will greets them, eyes on Jack’s shoulder as he holds out one of the cups. “We probably all need it.”

“You’re a godsend, Will,” Jack says with relief as he chucks back the cup of coffee in one go. The stressed-out frown almost habitually present on the Dom’s face soothes out, if just for a few minutes.

Though Will is not a social butterfly by far, it appears he is quite good at anticipating the needs of people around them and fulfilling them.

This is not the first time this has happened, Hannibal observes silently. Beverly admits how pleased she is that he got her order right again, to which Will only smiles. Zeller and Price are mid-discussion and only give Will a quick thanks, a habit. Will does not seem deterred.

Hannibal cannot help the way his mouth curls the slightest bit in distaste as he eyes the collection of paper cups. It would be rude to decline such an offering, but dislike is a mild term to describe how he feels about the kind of coffee the FBI serves.

When Will approaches him, he holds out the cup, and Hannibal takes it with an internal sigh of defeat and a fake smile.

Then his eyebrow arches.

“I know you hate the coffee here,” Will explains softly as Hannibal looks down on the cup of water in his hand, “but I also didn’t want you to feel left out. So I hope this is okay.”

When Hannibal’s eyes raise up to meet Will, the profiler looks him square in the eye.

For a single moment, Hannibal does not know what to say.

“Thank you,” he eventually manages, and leaves it at that.

The rest of the autopsy goes much in the same way.

Will is brilliant, of course, shooting down Jack’s suggestion of the Ripper with ease, the profile coming to life before Hannibal’s eyes. Strangely, it is not what Hannibal is paying attention to the most.

When Price and Zeller describe how the vocal cords are hardened, Will praises them with a quiet “good catch.” Hannibal sees Price and Zeller preen.

When Beverly steps back from her explanation, Will pulls out a chair for her, and she sits down with a grateful smile.

As the autopsy comes to a close, and Jack’s hand tightens around his cup, Will steps forward to clap a hand on Jack’s shoulder in assurance. “We’ll catch him.”

These are little gestures, and there are still enough awkward moments as Will slips a little to far into the Maestro’s mindspace, but they paint a clear enough picture.

Somehow, Will is very attuned to what his colleagues need, and goes out of his way to care for them in his own way. Hannibal is sure most of them don’t even notice.

The most startling observation is when Hannibal finds himself thinking _but what about me_.

He doesn’t know what startles him more; the needy, _submissive_ undercurrent in the thought, or the realization that Will spends every moment not actively involved in the discussion standing at Hannibal’s side.

Where, deep down, Hannibal wants him to be.

The worst thing is that it’s working.

Hannibal feels a quiet sort of contentment bubbling forth inside of him, a pleased feeling that Will is close, there for him, available for whatever Hannibal needs.

Will. A Dominant. Seeing to his needs – their needs.

Hannibal does not understand.

As the meeting comes to a close, and he follows Jack and Will back towards the main floor of the BAU, Jack claps him on the shoulder.

“A bit different than the operation table, isn’t it, Doctor?” he jokes. Hannibal realizes only then that his face is eerily blank, a shield thrown up without conscious thought as his inner cogs turn wildly.

He quickly shelves his features in an slightly embarrassed smile. “It is,” he admits, “and with that realization, my respect for your work only increases.”

Jack smiles, pleased, and bids them goodbye. Will is watching him.

“Have you any plans for lunch?”

Hannibal does not quite understand where the impulse to ask came from, but as the words leave his mouth he finds that he cannot regret them.

“Nope.”

“I am always pleased to welcome a friend to my table. Would you join me at my table? I can whip something into shape, and we can discuss the case a bit more if you like.”

“Sure,” Will responds with an easy smile, and follows him into the car.

The short ride to his home is silent. This is not unusual for them, although less for Will than for Hannibal. But Hannibal is lost in thought, and even though the object of both his conflict and fascination is next to him, he does not feel ready yet to speak.

“Beef-tartare sandwiches with fresh garlic and tomatoes,” Hannibal announces politely as he places the dishes in front of them.

They are in his dining room, sitting face-to-face, the painting of Leda and the Swan watching over them. This is the first time Will has been in this room, in his home.

He does not look uncomfortable, only curious. Hannibal feels strangely pleased.

“This is good,” Will compliments him after Hannibal has watched him take the first bite, “especially for something you made so quickly.”

“A good chef is always prepared for an opportunity to show off his skills,” Hannibal agrees after taking a moment to savour his own food.

For a few minutes, the table is silent as they both eat. With most people, Hannibal would force himself to make polite conversation, even though he likes to give his full attention to the food.

Will is not most people.

The profiler does not once try to start a conversation. Hannibal is both pleased and unsettled.

When the last bite is gone, Will leans back. His eyes are expectant.

“Are you going to tell me what’s eating you?” he inquires with a wry smile. The spot of mostly unintentional humour brings a smile to Hannibal’s face, until the question itself registers.

He feels his face fall into a mask of politeness. “What do you mean, Will? Is there something you want to discuss?”

Will barely stops himself from rolling his eyes, but it is evident how much he wants to. “Come on, Dr. Lecter. I know you better than that.” Will is speaking the truth. It seems his usual mask is not enough to fool the empath, not anymore. Hannibal is not sure how to feel about that. “Something is bothering you.”

Hannibal folds his napkin away and takes a sip of wine. Places his glass down. Decides.

“I must admit, Will, that I am once again surprised at your behaviour today.”

Will arches his eyebrow, and a little bit of hurt flashes across his face. No doubt he remembers the way he once again sank into the mind of the killer. _Had to open you up to get a decent sound out of you_. “With the profiling?”

Hannibal shakes his head. “No,” he says, and is surprised to find himself wanting to reassure the other man, “not the profiling.”

The line of Hannibal’s jaw sets in resoluteness. “I meant that I am surprised at your behaviour today in the lab. For a Dominant, your actions today seemed to me more suitable for a submissive.”

It is meant to provoke, but Will only watches him steadily. “Do you mean how I bring my team coffee?”

“Not only that. You bring them motivation disguised as nourishment. Personal attention in a few careful words, reassurance and confirmation where they give you none. Rather, they treat you with suspicion born of misunderstanding, as you dive deep into the headspace of these killers.” Hannibal pauses. “I will admit I do not understand your motivations.”

The smile on Will’s lips is somehow a little sad.

“I simply want to provide for them. Take care of them. I like doing that for people I care about. In my personal opinion, a good Dominant does not only take care of his Submissive, but of all the people in his life that he cares about. Though the Sub would take precedence, of course.”

Hannibal does not move a single muscle. “Not everyone would appreciate the implied ownership.”

Will shakes his head minutely. “There is no sense of ownership. Even if I had a relationship with a Sub, which I do not, they would own me just as much as I would own them. And I would want to take care of them as much as they would want to take care of me.”

“An uncommon paradigm,” Hannibal can only say.

Will smiles again, but this time, it is inviting. Hannibal feels a shiver going down his spine.

“I like taking care of people. And people like to be taken care of.”

Forcing himself to adopt a sceptical expression, Hannibal raises his eyebrow. “Do they?”

Will suddenly leans forward, putting his elbows on the table, whole body curving forward, towards Hannibal. His gaze is uncharacteristically steady, peeling away the layers of Hannibal’s person suit one by one.

“Don’t you want to be taken care of, Hannibal?”

The feeling that courses through him at those words is indescribable.

Hannibal closes his eyes in resignation.

“You know,” he simply says.

“I suspected strongly,” Will corrects. “Very strongly, at this point.”

“And I just confirmed it.” Hannibal says flatly.

“You are a Submissive,” Will states confidently.

A moment of silence.

“Yes,” Hannibal says. Somehow, admitting that fact out loud for the first time since his teenage years in the relative safety of his aunt’s embrace makes him feel elated.

He keeps his eyes closed.

“You hide it. Not because you need to, but because you want to.”

“Yes,” Hannibal says.

“You are ashamed of it. No,” Will corrects himself, “not ashamed. That would imply that you are anything less than completely sure in yourself. But you are dissatisfied. There is no one who is your equal, never mind worthy to be your Dominant.”

Hannibal is silent.

“You do a good job hiding it,” Will says, and the words are filled with so much honest approval that Hannibal feels his throat constrict. “It must be difficult, keeping yourself in check. You must have a staggering amount of self-control.”

Hannibal still does not dare to open his eyes. “I do. And it did not used to be difficult.” _Until I met you_.

The scraping of a chair. Hannibal startles, fingers flying towards the cutting knife at the table, eyes opening wide.

But Will has simply risen from his seat. He does not meet Hannibal’s eyes. Somehow, Hannibal senses it is for his benefit, instead of Will’s.

“What now?” Hannibal asks, and he hates how vulnerable he sounds. He does not know. He wants Will to step forward, grab his face with both hands, kiss him deeply. He wants to raise the knife clutched in his grip and pounce forward, sticking it deep into the profiler’s eye, killing him instantly. He wants Will to see him coming, to force him on his knees with a single word.

“Whatever you like,” Will replies evenly.

The empath swallows, the sound harsh in the silence. For the first time, Hannibal realizes how this must be for Will, how much the profiler must surely want him as well.

It should calm him, put him back in control. It’s something he can use. Instead, it only makes his stomach flutter.

“I could-” Will starts, then stops. “If I can…” a frown, and Will clears his throat.

“If you want anything from me,” Will says with forced casualness, placing Hannibal in the position of the demander, the one in control, “you need only ask. If I can provide, I will.”

The undercurrent of steel in his voice makes Hannibal want to whine.

“I think its best if you leave now,” he manages to say instead.

Will nods. “That’s okay. I’ll see myself out.”

Before Will can leave the dining room completely, Hannibal calls out. “Wait.”

Will stops. Turns. There is something in his eyes that Hannibal wants to crush into tiny little pieces and then eat one by one, savouring.

But he has to know.

“How did you know?”

Will smiles. “In your office. That first time, after Hobbs. You asked me about my dynamic; about my worship.”

Hannibal nods. Swallows.

Will’s eyes are pin-pricks of light in the chiaroscuro painting of his face.

“You deflected with aggression, but I could see the truth in your eyes. That for all your words, what you really needed in that moment was to be on your knees next to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dom will gives me life
> 
> If you like sub!hannibal come find us at [discord](discord.gg/MGyUQvY)
> 
> next chapter, our friend Tobias pays the boys a visit...


	3. my blood suddenly knows you’re gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobias pays a visit, with unexpected results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank [jonnimir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnimir/pseuds/jonnimir) for superiour readability and lack of spelling mistakes god bless them

_How dangerous, he thought, to finally have something worth losing._

* * *

When Tobias comes for him, the day after Will made his offer, it is more of a surprise than it should be. Franklyn is between them. A minor pest soon snuffed out.

Tobias tries, of course, to Command him.

_I just killed two men._

His right cuff is stained dark brown with dried blood.

Tobias’ Dominance is strong, and Hannibal is reeling from the sudden doubt. Still, he manages to resist the Maestro’s Command, and after that it is easy. A fledgeling killer cannot measure up to the Ripper.

After the deed is done, and Hannibal tips over the statue’s pedestal just to be sure, he staggers over to his desk and sits down.

He’s not afraid of legal consequences. It’s self-defence, a Dom invading another’s territory.

Even if Hannibal is not officially a Dom himself, he’s sure there won’t be too many questions. And somehow, Hannibal knows that even if Jack _is_ suspicious, Will would trust him. Will would-

If he’s not dead.

_He can’t be. He’s not allowed to._

_He better not be, or I’ll kill him myself._

_If he’s dead, if he’s dead- I’ll- I’ll-_

Hannibal can feel himself spiral, falling as if in freefall through the five stages of grief. The wind is harsh and cold in his face, the hard ground coming up to meet him, fast.

The sirens come closer. The police burst open the door and the forensics follow in soon after. He explains the basics of what happened to the first responder, who looks very sympathetic.

“I may have a concussion,” Hannibal says as the EMT checks him, who nods thoughtfully. “Probably,” the woman says.

It’s a convenient excuse.

It feels like it, anyhow. His head is full of cotton. His thoughts are slow, his iron control a beat behind, like a performance just off-key.

When the woman checks him for injuries, he barely manages to pass off the baring of his neck as a stretch of the shoulders. Hannibal feels detached, like he’s just starting to dip his toes in the water, preparing to float away.

But there is no lifeline that tethers him to land.

_He can’t be dead. I don’t know what I’ll do if he is._

And then, just as Hannibal has started to build himself up - _I did not need him anyway, I can survive just fine on my own_ \- Jack walks briskly into his office.

Will Graham is hot on his heels.

Hannibal immediately meets the Dom’s eyes. Will’s eyes are hard – scared? – and he does not hesitate to approach Hannibal.

Hannibal’s head feels blank. Empty. A program that has crashed.

All his focus is completely on Will.

Will strides forward in a few steps; kneels next to Hannibal to bring them to eye-level. Hannibal follows his gaze slowly, feeling woozy as he turns his chair.

“Careful,” the EMT woman says briskly as the two FBI agents approach her patient, though she is already packing up. “He has a mild concussion. Head wound. No bright lights, loud noises,” a stern look at Jack, “and give him time to answer.”

Though Hannibal hears the words, they do not register. The only thing that matters is Will. _You’re alive. You won. You’re here._

“I was worried you were dead,” Hannibal manages eventually, words slurred.

“I’m not,” Will assures him gently. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

“Tobias Budge,” Jack starts hesitatingly, “killed two Baltimore police officers. Nearly killed an FBI special agent,” and it is only now that the blood on Will registers. Hannibal’s chest constricts painfully.

“…first stop is here, at your office.”

Hannibal turns his head to Jack, slowly. Does not, _cannot_ raise his eyes to meet the Dom’s. Covers it up by closing them, raising one hand to his head.

Underneath his desk, Will settles one firm and reassuring hand to Hannibal’s leg.

It’s shockingly grounding.

“He came to kill my patient,” he manages. A shuddering breath, only a little faked. “I don’t know why. I don’t know,” and then he stops. He recognizes that he is not at full capacity now. Best not to say too much.

“Do you-” Jack begins.

“Maybe,” Will cuts in, “these questions can wait. Hannibal has a concussion, Jack. He’s a victim. The Maestro is dead. The rest can wait until tomorrow.”

_Will shall take care of it_ , Hannibal thinks. There is a warm feeling inside his belly that is starting to spread to all his limbs.

His toe enters the sea, followed by his foot, then his leg.

“Sure,” Jack sighs, “but I want to know more tomorrow, first thing in the morning. And not a second later.”

Will bites back his annoyance. Dips his head. “Deal,” he says, then turns back to Hannibal. “I’ll drive him home.”

Hannibal’s mind latches on to the word. _Home. Safe_.

Will takes his arm and Hannibal follows without protest. His Dom starts leading him towards the exit and Hannibal has enough presence of mind to keep his eyes half-closed, a hand on his head. _I’m concussed,_ the part of him still on dry land states desperately, _nothing more_.

“You do that, Will,” Jack says. Pauses. “That must have been one hell of a fight. Dr. Lecter is normally not so obedient.”

Somewhere within, Hannibal feels a flash of panic – but Will is quick to answer.

“They do say concussions can change a person,” he quips back, and Jack turns around with an amused huff.

They make their way out of Hannibal’s office with ease.

When they suddenly stop, Hannibal turns to Will in a daze.

“Your keys, please,” Will commands kindly and Hannibal obeys without question.

Another leg goes into the water.

_No, no, no_.

The drive towards his home is short. The Bentley is smooth and familiar around him. Soothing.

Before he knows it, Hannibal is in his living room, familiar smells and feelings wrapping around him.

Hannibal is sitting on the couch. Will is standing in front of him, tall and reassuring. Hannibal has the sudden urge to slide off the couch and onto his knees. It is only his life-long habit of self-control that makes him resist it.

“Do you know what is happening?”

Will’s voice is gentle.

“No,” Hannibal whispers.

Hands cradle his chin, tilting it upwards. “You’re falling into subspace, darling.” Will’s voice is sunlight on the first day of summer; the first bite of meat after a successful hunt. "You’ve had a intense day. Not only did you fight for your life, you also thought I was dead. That must have been a shock.”

Hannibal wants to reply, but stops himself, suddenly certain that whatever words would burst out of his mouth would not be in English.

There is a spark lighting up inside of him. It starts at the base of his spine and runs up, up through his lungs, through his throat until it finally escapes his lips.

And Hannibal Whines.

The Whine is low, unfamiliar, _desperate_. Hannibal has never heard himself make such a sound before, not since those cold winter nights in Lithuania. It did not work then, and he has never lowered himself to make such a noise since.

For Will, once more, he makes an exception.

As the sound fills the room, he feels Will stiffen. Hannibal sees the Dom react with every single part of his being. Will’s arms curve upwards and around him, a grounding touch on Hannibal’s neck. His smell intensifies, filling the air around Hannibal with its presence.

“ ** _I’m here, Hannibal. Let go._** ”

A rope is bound around his waist, securing him. Hannibal sighs, and sets off into the boundless sea.

The water feels like bliss, the tether around him stronger than steel.

Hannibal closes his eyes and lets go.

* * *

When he resurfaces, the doctor is not sure how much time has passed.

The first thing he’s aware of is that he’s on his knees. One of the cushions of the couch has been placed underneath his knees, and though they ache, it is not painful.

The second thing he’s aware of is Will.

Will is sitting on the couch, a book in one hand, the other cradled in Hannibal’s hair. Hannibal himself is leaning against Will’s leg with his whole body.

Both of them are still fully clothed. The wave of worry is squashed before it begins. As Hannibal blinks, takes in the room, he notes the setting sun.

_It must have been hours._

The third thing that registers is how _settled_ he feels. The uneasy feeling in his chest is gone, replaced by a calm kind of warmth. The perpetual tightness of his limbs is gone, replaced by a relaxed looseness. His mind feels clearer than ever.

“Are you back with me, baby?”

Hannibal makes an affirming noise, the pet name causing a strange flutter in his chest.

He hears Will put the book away and lean forward. The hand in his hair grips it, gently, and tilts his head upwards.

Hannibal’s eyes latch on to Will’s immediately. “How are you feeling?” the profiler asks gently.

The sight of Will’s calm and content face steals Hannibal’s breath away. Never before has he wanted to kiss another person so desperately.

And so, still feeling free and content, Hannibal does.

The Sub surges upward smoothly, pushing himself into the Dom’s lap with a single-minded passion. Will barely has any time to make room for him before Hannibal is leaning forward and pressing their lips together.

It is only after their mouths are joined that Hannibal’s brain catches up with him.

_What are you doing,_ he thinks half-panicked, an unfamiliar feeling of self-doubt rising within him as his long-buried instincts go haywire. He’s starting to pull back as his cheeks flush, _this is not-_

As he pulls back, Will growls.

Will’s hands are on his back, pressing Hannibal close against him. Their mouths meet once more, and Hannibal feels Will’s desperation as if it was his own.

Will’s lips are warm and forceful against him, pressing so wonderfully against his own. Hannibal lets out a needy moan and Will takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, exploring Hannibal’s mouth like a delicacy.

Hannibal feels himself growing hard, warmth coursing through his body as their lips meet again and again. Will’s chest rumbles in contentment even as he grabs Hannibal, one hand on his back and another on his ass, and turns them both to the side to press themselves against the couch.

Like this, Will is plastered all over him, the reassuring presence of his Dom making Hannibal instinctively go limp. Will’s hands are roaming his chest, his shoulders, his arms, though he is not going any lower. They skirt around his nipples and Hannibal whines softly against Will’s lips, wishing the man would just stop teasing him.

Will pulls back a little to huff out a laugh, to which Hannibal can only look at him in wonder. The Sub brings a hand up, slowly, and Will stills, allowing it. Hannibal trails a hand from Will’s cheek to his neck, slowly going down over his chest and settling on his hip.

“Seems like you’re doing pretty good, sweetheart,” Will teases, eyes dancing. Hannibal smiles shyly at the form of address before the words register.

Abruptly, Hannibal’s world comes crashing back down. He is Hannibal Lecter, and he has just killed a man. Then he apparently spent several hours in subspace at Will’s feet.

Hannibal feels his own face go blank.

Will, sensing his mood, stills. Not able to help himself, the Dom darts forward for one quick peck on Hannibal’s flushed lips, still glistering in the dim light of the living room.

Then Will moves back into a sitting position, helping Hannibal up as he does so.

Will clears his throat.

“How are you feeling?” he tries again.

The honest concern in his voice is unmistakable, and Hannibal cannot find it within himself to lie.

“Confused,” he admits, “surprised”. The flash of hurt in Will’s eyes pierces surprisingly deep. “Content,” he hastens to add, because it is also true. “Warm. Settled.”

“You’ve never fallen into subspace before,” Will says slowly.

Hannibal closes his eyes. The words spill out before he can stop them. “Not since I was eight,” he confesses, very aware most children don’t present their dynamic until they are at least twelve. “It was not voluntary. I- I lost my sister that day.”

The simple phrases feel like scalpels, cutting him open, exposing the twisted and human parts of him he does not want the world to see. Hannibal does not dare to say Mischa’s name aloud. He cannot bear it.

Will does not offer empty words of pity or sympathy. Instead, he presses his legs against Hannibal’s in reassurance, even as his piercing eyes seek out Hannibal’s own.

“You killed them.”

Hannibal holds his gaze. “Yes.”

Will nods, eyes cold. “Good.”

Hannibal’s breath catches. _My Will._

He moves forward to bury himself into Will’s arms and he does not feel ashamed. Will buries his face in Hannibal’s hair in response and Hannibal is content.

All is silent for a few minutes.

“I hope I helped.” Will breaks the silence with whispered words. “You were so far gone, and I wanted to take care of you so badly.” The words are honest, raw. “But I did not want to do anything that you did not want. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You did not.” Hannibal’s voice is thick.

Will breathes out deeply, a shudder. When he speaks again, it is choked. “I’m glad.”

After that, they go to the kitchen together. Hannibal takes out leftovers from the day before on autopilot. Will pours them two glasses of water and starts the coffee machine.

He navigates the complicated machine with ease, and Hannibal feels a pang of longing in his chest for how _right_ Will looks here, in his kitchen.

“What you offered, yesterday,” Hannibal starts, then stops. He cannot find the words.

It is a novel feeling.

Will straightens up and the flash of hope in his face makes Hannibal’s heart light up. He forgets, sometimes, how Will is just as alone as he is.

“If you…” the doctor tries once more, then swallows. Takes a sip of water.

Will moves forward now, a little more confidently, though still as frail as a glass wall. Enough force, and he would shatter into pieces.

“Hannibal,” Will asks earnestly, taking both of Hannibal’s hands in his own. “Would you like me to take care of you?”

Burning maroon eyes meet glistering blue ones.

“Do you want to be my Submissive, and give me the honour of being your Dominant in turn?”

If Hannibal wanted to, he could let Will fall, watch him scatter to pieces on his cold kitchen tiles. Like a teacup.

He won’t.

“Yes,” Hannibal breathes, and Will surges forward to meet him with a kiss.

* * *

The next few weeks go by quickly.

Hannibal visits Will in Wolf Trap thrice, bringing treats for his dogs every single time. They like him, and he does not mind them. They do not judge, even as Will sneaks his arms around him from behind as Hannibal cooks in Will’s simple kitchen.

Their relationship does not suddenly transform into something different; they are still Will and Hannibal, profiler and psychiatrist, friend and friend. Hannibal is somehow surprised with how little it changes. Suspicious, at first, ignoring every single question that even sounds a little bit like an order from Will purely out of spite. Will never comments on it.

Their conversations continue, though now with dinner. Will eats slowly and Hannibal does not bother to hide his staring. Afterwards, Will presses Hannibal into the couch and Hannibal lets himself be worshipped.

Will is more affectionate. Where before, Hannibal was always the one to instigate physical contact with a clear and calculating purpose, now it is Will who removes the space between their bodies. His purpose is simple, yet devastatingly disarming.

Intimacy.

A hand on his shoulder in approval when they sit down with dinner. Feet brushing along his lower leg underneath the table. Their hands touching when Will hands him his home-made coffee, brought along in a thermos.

Every time Will instigates the touch, Hannibal, touch-starved for so long, has to remind himself to start breathing again. Presses down the pleas in his chest that want to ask for _more, Sir, please_.

As the weeks go by, a part of Hannibal starts to unfurl. A part that he has only ever seen as an obstacle to be overcome is now growing within him. Flourishing. It is filling his thoughts and bringing up urges at random times throughout the day. Most of them centre around Will.

He wants to please Will. Wants to be _good_ for him.

At night, Hannibal stares at his ceiling and examines his own mind. The looks Will gives him are full of promise, but he does not actually do anything about them. Nothing more then kissing and touching above the waist.

Hannibal discovers he is disappointed at this fact.

The Chesapeake Ripper strikes again. A Dominant this time, with a bad reputation and several lawsuits against him that did not stick. His eyes are removed, as are his ears and tongue. _See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil_. Will reconstructs Hannibal’s crime scene before his very eyes, almost effortless. When Will meets his eyes afterwards, Hannibal wants to consume him.

He thinks he may be in love.

They do not have sex. Hannibal’s neck is still bare. Will still brings them coffee.

And Hannibal walks through the city, the park, the market. Sees the different Dominants and Submissives around them, and instead of disdain, feels himself wondering.

Imagining.

Playful curls fill his mind’s eye, the ghost of a touch of a strong hand on his neck. Hannibal shivers, pulls his coat thicker around him, and bites back a shy smile.

* * *

“You have to be kidding me,” is the only thing Will can think of.

“I’m not,” Jack says grimly, while at the same time Alana murmurs, “That’s what I said.”

The three of them are in Jack’s office. The blinds are drawn shut. It’s almost lunchtime, and downstairs, Hannibal is waiting to be taken to lunch.

Instead, Will is here, and he’s not happy.

“You think _Hannibal Lecter_ is the Chesapeake Ripper?”

Spread on Jack’s desk is Will’s profile on the Chesapeake Ripper, a blend of truth and not-quite-truths mixed in with some misdirection. It is a careful project, moderately successful. The question is: is it enough?

The set of Jack’s jaw is resolute. “The profile fits, Will. Former surgeon, Dom or dominant non-dynamic, forty to fifty-five years old, confirmed bachelor. Intelligent, controlled, theatrical. I don’t like it any more than you do, but it fits. Hannibal has the skills and the temperament both. We _have_ to take this seriously.”

“Except that Hannibal is kind,” Alana argues, “and caring. He wants to help people, Jack, not kill them.”

“He wants to figure them out,” Jack counters, and Will’s brain is racing. Of course now would be the moment Jack finally trusts his own instincts instead of Will’s.

“In order to help them,” Alana says once more, an undercurrent of desperation in her voice.

“Will,” Jack says and suddenly Will can see the glint in Jack’s eyes for what it is. _Convince me I’m wrong. Please. I don’t want to believe it._

Will is always happy to provide what his friends need.

He also knows Jack’s instincts are sharp, especially concerning the Ripper. He has to cut this off quickly, efficiently, _completely_. There can be no doubt left in Jack’s mind.

“Hannibal fits some of the criteria,” he allows and sees Jack nod aggressively even as Alana’s eyebrows arch a little at the use of the good doctor’s first name. “But there are just as many that he does not.”

“First of all,” Will starts, “the Ripper is careful. He would never be as arrogant to set himself in the spotlight, which he would do when he would be working with us. The satisfaction he gets is from the kills themselves, not from our dancing around them.”

“But working with us would give him more insight into our investigation,” Jack argues.

“And us more insight into him.” Will’s voice is steady, resolute. “He wouldn’t risk it. Secondly,” turning around as he paces, hoping the lies he’d crafted these past few weeks hold, “the Ripper does not have any friends. Barely has any acquaintances, and those he has are used mostly to fuel his own ego. He sees other people as beneath him, and would never be interested in their lives. Hannibal has friends. He has you,” as he nods to both Alana and Jack, “and me, and Ellen Komeda, and another few other Baltimore socialites who regularly grace his dinner table. Would you say Hannibal takes an interest in your life?”

“He does,” Jack says slowly, thinking of Bella. “Good point.”

Will keeps his face neutral. That was the hook. Now it’s time for the line.

“We’re friends, yes,” Alana says, seriously considering Will’s words. “I would even call us close friends.” The faintest traces of a blush on her cheeks. Will fights the urge to bare his teeth.

“Though I will say,” and now she looks a little uneasy, “I still have this feeling…” She swallows. “Like there is some part of him that he does not want me to know, that he keeps hidden. A secret he has yet to share.”

Both Jack and Alana look to Will as if waiting for him to dispute her argument.

Instead, Will nods. “He does. I know about it.”

A moment of silence.

“You do?” Jack asks sceptically. “Well, then, what is it?” As Jack says this, Alana leans forward as well, clearly interested.

_Line_.

“Give me ten minutes,” he says confidently. Will sees Jack’s mouth open to protest and holds up a hand. “Ten minutes,” he repeats, barely stopping himself from putting Dominance in his voice.

Jack’s eyes narrow. “Not a second more.”

“Got it, chief,” Will says and walks briskly out of the door.

As he descends the stairs of the BAU, Will’s mind races. He turns one corridor, then another, turning and turning just like his thoughts.

Hannibal is standing in front of his office door. He is smiling, ready to go to lunch, but the smile quickly turns into a frown as he lays eyes on Will.

“Will,” he says as the Dom passes him by and pulls him into his office, “what is going on?”

The door is closed. Will pulls Hannibal into his arms. Pulls their foreheads together, forcing Hannibal to meet his eyes. He puts one hand on his shoulder, the other flat on the back of Hannibal’s neck in preparation.

Hannibal goes tense. He meets Will’s eyes without hesitation. There is a warning in his eyes, a flashing light saying _there better be a reason you are doing this here and now_.

“Jack suspects you of being the Chesapeake Ripper,” he says softly.

Hannibal freezes. Suddenly, Will’s hand on his neck is the only thing that’s keeping him upright.

Then Hannibal lets out a very soft Whine.

It shakes Will to the core.

Immediately, the urge to _protect provide defend_ overwhelms him. Will has to grit his teeth to stop himself from going back up to Jack’s office and snapping the man’s neck with his bare hands.

It is not a useful urge. Will takes a deep breath and resumes talking, fingers trembling with the effort.

“I’m sorry for springing it on you like that. I’ve only known for fifteen minutes myself. I’ve been editing my profile on the Ripper over these past few weeks, but there is still enough for them to link it to you. To get a warrant.”

Hannibal, if possible, grows even stiller, but Will does not stop talking. “Jack and Alana are in his office right now. I’ve managed to get Jack teetering on the edge, and Alana is wilfully blind enough that she’s easy to convince.” He isn’t sure Hannibal is breathing. “But if we want to cut this off completely, we have to throw them off the trail for once and for all.”

Slowly, as if he is a statue petrified by Will’s Medusa eyes and brought back to life by the Gods, Hannibal starts to move. First, the muscles under Will’s hand relax. Next, he starts breathing again. Then, his hands slowly move upwards so he can grasp Will by the lapel of his jacket.

“You know,” he whispers, and in that moment Hannibal sounds so vulnerable Will wants to hide him away in his basement and never let him out.

“I do,” he whispers back, “I have for a while now. Ever since you killed Tobias. And then, the last tableaux…” The familiar feeling. The little hints.

“And you…” Hannibal doesn’t say anything further.

Will smiles indulgently, and only a little darkly. “You’re _mine_ , Hannibal.”

He hears his father’s words echoing in his mind. _When you finally find your match, son,_ the gruff but kind man told him so many times, _you take care of ‘em. You make ‘em feel precious. You place them above anything else in the world, Will, because they are the most important thing in yours._

“My duty is to take care of you. And whether that means bringing you under when you need it or lying to the FBI, I will do it. I will not let you down.”

The words hit Hannibal hard, and the doctor takes a deep and shaky breath.

Hannibal opens his mouth to say something else, but Will cuts him off. “Let’s talk about this more later, sweetheart,” he adds gently before letting the urgency in his voice resurface. “For now, we have Jack to deal with.”

Hannibal visibly gets himself back together. His hands tighten on Will’s chest.

“We have to kill Jack,” he states soberly.

Will cannot help but smile.

“You have such wonderful instincts, sometimes,” amusement clear in Will’s voice. Hannibal’s eyes jerk to him, frowning. “Don’t worry. That’s just one of the many reasons I love you, darling.”

The tension in Hannibal’s frame melts away at these words, a wonderful tender look coming into his eyes. Will smiles tenderly, even as his thoughts are still on the goal.

Good. He needs Hannibal emotional for this.

“We are not going to kill Jack, Hannibal,” Will says fondly, “that is very much a last resort. If we do that, we’ll have to flee the country. No. We are going to go upstairs and reveal our relationship status to him. Fully.”

Hannibal tenses up once more. “Are you sure we cannot just kill him,” he half-whines. “If there is one man I do not want to have this knowledge…”

Will moves his hand from Hannibal’s shoulder to stroke his cheek. “It’s the most effective and painless move there is,” he says soothingly, “and Jack is old-fashioned enough that he’ll drop his suspicions completely. Furthermore, he’s honourable enough to not spread this information, nor will Alana. You can say about Jack what you want, but he doesn’t discriminate. He’s an asshole to everyone, to Subs as much as fellow Doms.”

Will’s saying it as much to reassure himself as Hannibal. Will knows that Hannibal knows this is the best action to take. That doesn’t mean it isn’t risky.

Giving up your biggest secret to protect your second, but far more dangerous secret.

“I have a plan,” Will says softly, “and it is going to work. Do you trust me?”

Keeping Will’s gaze for a long second, Hannibal eventually gives a slow nod.

“Do you want to be good for me, sweetheart?”

Hannibal’s pupils dilate. The corners of his mouth twitch, aware that he is being manipulated yet only respecting Will more for it.

“Please, Sir.” The words feel strange on his tongue, but good. Right. “I’ll be good.”

Will smiles, proudly, and trails a hand along the underside of Hannibal’s jaw. The Sub shivers.

“I know you will,” Will says.

* * *

Will calmly opens the door to Jack’s office.

“Will,” Jack starts immediately as he walks in, “good. We were just-”

Jack cuts himself off as Hannibal enters the office behind Will. His eyes are on Hannibal, who is looking at the ground in an unusual display of demureness. Will is so proud of him.

“Less than eight minutes,” he says instead with a quick glance at his watch and a smile, nodding to Alana who is watching them all with a frown on her face.

“Will,” she says, “what is going on?”

“Do enlighten us,” Jack adds dangerously.

“Hannibal and I want to tell you something,” Will says instead of answering. Looks at Hannibal.

The doctor is visibly tense, the line of his jaw taut in a way Will knows is on purpose. The straightness of his spine and twitching of his fingers, however, are all genuine.

“I have not been entirely honest with you both,” Hannibal starts, then stops.

Jack is silent. Alana leans forward, both curious and empathetic. “It’s okay, Hannibal. Whatever you want to tell us, we will not think any less of you.”

Hannibal smiles wryly. It looks alien on his face.

“When you say Hannibal and I, Will,” Jack interrupts sharply.

Hannibal swallows, then meets Jack’s eyes. “Yes,” he answers, “and no. It is true that Will and I have entered into a romantic relationship,” Hannibal’s voice is steady. Jack’s frown is severe, looking at both Will and Hannibal with suspicion, now.

Alana, in contrast, leans back in surprise, her mouth falling open in a soft ‘o’.

“However, that is not what I was alluding to, Jack.”

“Then please do tell us, _Hannibal_ ” Jack responds and Will thinks _come on, baby, you can do it._

Jack and Alana are on the line now, and it is time to reel them in. Leave them any longer and they’ll swim away, weary for the next time the bait bobbles in the water.

“I am not a non-dynamic,” Hannibal says in one long breath. “And I am not a Dominant either.”

Will steps forward, putting a soothing hand on between Hannibal’s shoulder blades.

“With which I mean to tell you,” Hannibal begins, and his voice cracks just a little, “to- to tell you…” _Now you’re overdoing it_ , Will thinks, but maybe he is not. Maybe he underestimated how difficult this would be for his Sub.

“I am a Submissive.”

_Good boy. Now reel them in_.

Alana reels back in shock, whole body going stiff. Her eyes are wide and disbelieving.

Jack’s eyebrows have climbed into his hairline. The angry suspicion has fallen of his face, replaced by honest confusion. “What?!”

“There was a lot of discrimination against Submissives in my youth,” Hannibal says, and Will feels his own surprise, because that is the truth. “My ambitions and dreams did not suit themselves for what they thought a Submissive could and should do. My aunt and uncle helped me hide it.” This time, the words are a perfect blend of truth and misdirection.

Alana is staring wide-eyed at her friend, a mix of empathy and hurt in her eyes.

Hannibal’s accent even comes through thicker. As if he is getting emotional.

“Here in America, it is better,” Hannibal continues. “But it is still not… A risk. I could take,” he swallows, suddenly sounding more demure than Alana and Jack have ever heard him, “I’m sorry if-”

Will decides it’s enough. He doesn’t want Hannibal to do endure this any more than is absolutely necessary.

“Shhh,” Will says as he steps forward, placing himself between Hannibal and the others. He draws Hannibal in his arms, shielding him from the world. Putting both his hands to the side of Hannibal’s face so that the only thing Hannibal can see and smell is him; a classic and recognizable technique to soothe a troubled Submissive.

For a moment, it is silent. Hannibal trembles ever-so-slightly in his arms, and suddenly Will does not know if that is faked or not. A worried rumble climbs out of his chest, and Hannibal relaxes.

_More than anything else in the world,_ Will thinks.

“I had no idea,” Alana is the first one to speak up. “I- It’s- It’s okay, Hannibal, it’s okay.” Her smile is wobbly.

“I understand why you wanted to hide it. Sometimes I want to hide it,” covering the last of her unsettledness with a little humour, “and I grew up in America.”

Will’s eyes move to Jack. He speaks as if Hannibal is not there. “You see?” he asks the fish they truly want to catch. “Not a Dom or dominant non-dynamic, neither a bachelor. Just a man who does not want to be treated like a footstool,” he spits the last words angrily, not at Jack but at the world around him.

“Prove it,” Jack says quietly.

“Jack!” Alana says loudly, affronted, but Will is not surprised.

“No, Alana,” Jack cuts her off, “I know. I _want_ to believe this, and though I did not expect this at all. The way Hannibal behaves- the way you let him treat you, Will,” and Will’s eyes flash. He knows Jack does simply not understand their relationship, that Jack himself would never let his Sub treat him like Hannibal treats Will, but Will’s hackles are still rising.

Jack winces a little at his own words. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I just-” and here Jack cuts himself off, swallows.

Looks Will straight in the eyes.

“Theoretically, you could have faked this whole performance. I don’t think you did,” Jack says quickly when Alana opens her mouth in anger, “but I need to be sure. I _need_ to. It’s the Ripper, Will. You know what that means.”

And Will understands. He does. He sees the quiet desperation in Jack’s eyes, the tremble of his fingers that want to reach out to soothe the troubled Sub, the slant of his mouth that implies how much he hates his own paranoia.

And that’s good. That’s what Will’s counting on. Because the cornerstone of their deception is true. Hannibal _is_ a Submissive, after all. And when this is proven, Jack will have assured all his doubts, and he will never suspect Hannibal again.

_Sinker_.

So Will answers agitatedly, as would be expected of a Dominant whose Submissive is being questioned, but confidently. “I understand, Jack. It’s okay.”

Drawing back slightly, the harsh light of the office falls suddenly on Hannibal’s face. Will makes a soothing noise as he draws Hannibal towards him, creating as much distance between them and Jack as possible.

“Hannibal,” Will says, and readies himself. They’d agreed upon this, yes, but they both know it is not a pleasant experience for the doctor. Not like this. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he adds gently, and Hannibal does not look towards anyone but Will, keeping his gaze on Will’s face.

His cheeks are flushed and his mouth trembles, but his eyes are sharp.

“Now be a good boy for me,” Will whispers, sees the way Hannibal’s tongue flickers out to wet his lips. Taking a breath, he carefully manages the strength of his Command, “and **_kneel_**.”

The Command is absolute. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees how Alana falls deeper into her chair with a blush, but he barely pays it any mind. Instead, his focus is on Hannibal. On his Submissive.

Hannibal instinctively tries to resist it, as they both knew he would. Hostile territory, surrounded by strangers, a life-long habit of defiance – Hannibal has trouble letting himself float in a safe environment, never mind this one.

Behind them, Jack is watching guardedly. The man’s brow furrows as Hannibal does not immediately drop to his knees.

Instead the Sub’s legs buckle, once, twice, before his resistance turns into acceptance.

Hannibal drops to his knees on the cold and hard floor of Jack’s office, burying his face into Will’s legs. As he does so, his body curls up defensively.

And then, and then, an apology to his Dom as much as a plea for help being forced into such a vulnerable position-

Hannibal lets out a soft and piercing Whine.

The sound reverberates through the office, low and sweet. Jack is halfway out of his chair, hand extended, before he stops himself. The relief on his face is palpable.

Even fellow Submissives are not unaffected by another Sub’s distress. Alana, already sympathizing with Hannibal, actually stands up from her chair. Her eyes are tearing up as she steps forward, hand reaching towards Hannibal’s shoulder, eyes shining wetly. “Hannibal, I’m-”

“ ** _Don’t come closer,_** ” Will snarls before he can stop himself.

Alana freezes. Hannibal buries his face deeper into Will’s thigh.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Will immediately murmurs softly as he places one hand on Hannibal’s neck like a collar, grounding him. “You did so good. So good for me. I’m so proud of you.”

Only after Hannibal stops trembling does Will look up at Alana.

“Apologies,” Will grits out between clenched teeth. “But I don’t want you to be near Hannibal right now. Let alone actually touch him. Neither of you,” he continues with a look to Jack, who doesn’t look surprised.

“Will,” Alana says softly.

“No,” Will fires back and his voice books no disagreement. “No matter your reasoning, you both just forced Hannibal to share a part of his life with you that he did not want to, while _also_ accusing him of being a _psychopathic serial killer_.” The last few words were hissed.

Against his leg, he feels Hannibal’s cheeks curl up in a hidden smile.

“I understand,” Jack says evenly. Placating.

“Thank you, Jack,” Will says stiffly. “If there are no more questions that _absolutely cannot wait_ until later,” he continues, and Jack shuts his mouth once more, “I would like both of you to leave my Submissive and I alone for the next thirty minutes. I’ll take the rest of the day off.”

Alana bites her lip at the phrasing _my Submissive_ before nodding and making her way out. “I’m sorry,” she says again before she closes the door behind her.

Will turns to meet Jack’s gaze. The man looks conflicted.

“I’m not going to apologize, Will,” he says. “And Dr. Lecter,” he adds when Will raises an eyebrow.

Hannibal does not react. Will, a little concerned, runs a hand through his hair. The strands are soft underneath his hands.

Jack’s eyes trail along the gesture, then snap back up to Will’s face. “But I will also admit I am not proud of this.” Jack’s eyes unfocus, lost in memory for just a few seconds.

“I’ll be back in an hour, and not a minute less,” the other Dom says gruffly, a non-verbal apology, and locks the office behind him as he leaves. The turn-lock at the inside of the door settles in place as he goes.

For a few moments, both Hannibal and Will are silent. Will keeps running one hand through Hannibal’s hair, playing with the strands. The other hand he trails along Hannibal’s shoulder until it settles on his neck, firm and reassuring.

Eventually, Hannibal raises his head. His gaze is steady.

“That was more intense than I expected,” the kneeling man whispers.

“You did so good,” Will says, half-purring. “You were perfect. Your words, your actions, everything. I’m so proud of you.”

He guides Hannibal up until they are both standing, their foreheads touching. Will hopes his face shows even a fraction of the pride, protectiveness, reverence and admiration he feels for Hannibal right now.

It must show at least something, because Hannibal smiles.

“You okay again?” Will asks softly.

Hannibal nods. Pulls himself back. Will lets him.

“Though I will not say I am fully recovered,” Hannibal admits while steadily meeting Will’s eyes, and Will is so proud, so happy, “I dare say that only you will be able to see that.”

Reassured, Will’s smile morphs into a grin.

He spreads his arms.

“And we still have over forty-five minutes alone, unsupervised, in the office of the head of the BAU.” His grin turns a little twisted. “Don’t I take good care of you, darling?”

It’s meant as a joke, but Hannibal’s face softens.

“You do.”


	4. willing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank [jonnimir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnimir/pseuds/jonnimir) for the beta!

_you had this expression on your face  
like you weren’t quite sure you were supposed to be on earth._

* * *

“You invited Alana _and_ Jack?”

Hannibal turns around from where he is directing his hired staff for tonight. They are competent, yes, but do need proper instructions.

Smiling at Will, Hannibal nods. “Phyllis, as well.”

“Huh,” Will says in surprise, then shrugs. “I’m going upstairs to change.”

“I left your clothes on our bed.”

“My own suit was not good enough?”

Hannibal arches an elegant eyebrow. Will’s eyes dance with amusement.

“I didn’t even bring it,” the profiler admits.

Hannibal’s chest fills with warmth. He steps closer to Will, giving his Dom a short but sweet kiss.

When Will looks ready to dive back in for more, Hannibal pushes him back playfully. “Go change,” he commands, and Will smirks mischievously.

“Yes, sir,” he says with a curtsy. Around them, the hired staff watch them with amusement, drawing their own conclusions.

As Will disappears upstairs, Hannibal cannot help but watch him go.

The profiler truly is a marvellous being.

How fortunate he is, to be able to claim Will as his. To be claimed by Will.

The sudden longing in his chest surprises Hannibal. There is a warm pull inside of him urging him just to go upstairs and wrap himself in his Dom’s arms and voice and float the rest of the day away.

Shaking his head, the doctor breathes out deeply and saves the urge away for later. Maybe even tonight.

With warmth in his chest, Hannibal turns his attention back to the kitchen.

* * *

“Every dish tonight has been selected and prepared with the uttermost care,” Hannibal says as he raises his glass. “Bon appétit.”

His guests toast him with smiles, and Hannibal sits down back at the head of the table.

For a few moments, everyone is silent. Hannibal’s eyes flicker from face to face, savouring the way they all start to consume the flesh laid out before them, ignorant as pigs are when they are fattened up before slaughter.

He makes sure to look at Will the last, even when it may result in missing the first bite. If he starts watching Will, he will not be able to look away.

“Heavenly,” Ellen Komeda says from his left, a good friend placed more often near the head of the table, and a very good conversationalist.

“It really is,” Jack compliments from next to Ellen. Another seat down, Bella voices her agreement, her sleek but elegant collar snug around her neck.

“No matter how often I taste your cooking, you still manage to outdo yourself every time, Hannibal.” Alana, sitting across from Jack, is never shy with her compliments. It’s one of the reasons Hannibal likes her so much.

“I try,” Hannibal says kindly, thinking of the his last tableau, the shards of glass spread out around the dead Sub like wings. He was particularly proud of that one.

More compliments come from the rest of the table, which Hannibal takes in with grace. Only then, when the social niceties are done and air is filled with sounds of cutlery and chewing, does Hannibal pick up his own knife and fork.

Allows his gaze to flicker to Will.

Their eyes meet. The world around them falls silent.

As Hannibal watches, Will watches him back. As Hannibal’s hands close around the cutlery, only then does Will pick up his own. As Hannibal cuts into the meat, so does Will.

As Hannibal raises the long pig to his mouth and takes a bite, so does Will copy him, every move a single beat behind.

Just as a high society Submissive would.

When Hannibal showed Will his seat for the evening before the other guests had arrived, he had expected resistance. A token protest, at least, about how it was not appropriate, or necessary, or a half-teasing remark about not expecting him to act the part. As high society dictated, for a Dom-Sub pair to be hosting an event, the seating rules were simple.

The Dom, at the head of the table. The Sub, on his right side, either on their knees or on a soft cushion, depending on the occasion and the couple.

But Will did nothing like that. He simply smiled at Hannibal, touched a hand to the inside of Hannibal’s wrist, and agreed.

And now, without Hannibal even asking anything like it, Will was publicly – even if it is subtly – submitting to him.

Hannibal’s pupils blow wide as the flavour of the meat hit him at the precise moment that Will’s lips close around his fork. Hannibal’s eyes flutter in pleasure, but he keeps them open out of sheer force of will.

All the better to watch Will’s knowing enjoyment. If Will asked, he would banish all his guests in a heartbeat, so that Will might spread him out on the table and feast on him all night.

The heat pooling in his gut pulls Hannibal out of his thoughts, and he takes a moment to make sure none of his inner thoughts are visible on his face.

Will gives him a knowing smile.

* * *

The dinner had gone swimmingly. Will was perfect. He did not speak a lot, only joining the conversation at Hannibal’s leads or when asked a direct question. This was not very out of character for the profiler, who was more like a social caterpillar at the best of times.

It also fitted the behaviour of a high-society Submissive. Hannibal was certain this was on purpose.

Alana and Ellen were friendly with each other and both Jack and Bella were capable conversationalists. It was interesting to Hannibal to see the softer side of the head of the BAU who, for all that he could be brash sometimes, was obviously completely in love with his wife and Sub.

Though their relationship was more on the traditional side of Dom/Sub pairings, Jack treated Bella with respect, and Bella herself had a very sharp mind.

Now that dinner had passed, it was time for mingling. The guests had moved from the dining room into the drawing room, being provided with wines and small snacks as they talked. Hannibal had already made his rounds, Will hot on his heels, relying on Hannibal’s cues more out of social awkwardness and uneasiness than of any sense of submission. That it looked that way to onlookers, well, Hannibal would not complain.

Hannibal had left Will talking to Bella, the sub pleasantly sharp and intelligent, before retreating to the kitchen.

The kitchen staff is cleaning dishes, preparing snacks and bringing up his pre-selected wines.

Surveying his staff with a critical eye, the doctor turns around as he hears the click-clack of heels behind him.

“You have a lovely home.”

Speaking of the devil.

“Thank you, Phyllis,” he says with a graceful dip of his head, wondering why she had sought him out.

Bella steps closer to him, her lovely emerald green dress fluttering around her, the collar around her throat complementing the look. Hannibal’s eyes flicker ever so briefly to the thin strip of black, imagining the weight of it against his own neck. His hands twitches and he mentally berates himself for the slip of composure.

“I wanted to tell you that Jack told me,” she says gently, and Hannibal’s face falls back into blankness. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised.

“And I wanted to offer my insights and experience,” Bella continued, eyes flickering towards the two staff members currently bringing in dirty dishes. “But only if you feel it would be useful.”

Hannibal’s first instinct is to brush her off gently, but sternly. He doesn’t need anyone’s help, and especially not from a Sub who would wear a collar openly.

Reconsiders. Takes a breath.

Though Bella does wear Jack’s collar, she sat next to the head of the BAU at the dinner table like an equal. She deferred to him, yes, but subtly, and in such a way that did not erase the fact that she was an intelligent woman herself.

And whatever he would say to Bella, she would surely relay to Jack. An opportunity.

So instead of brushing her off, Hannibal smiles convincingly. “Would you like to assist me with choosing a wine?”

Bella responds with a graceful nod. “It would be an honour,” she agrees demurely, bowing her head in compliance and allowing Hannibal to lead her down to the cellar on his arm.

As soon as they are alone in the cellar – cellar, not basement – Hannibal drops her arm. Somehow, alone with someone who knows, it seems false.

“I am not sure I am comfortable with Jack spreading this knowledge around,” he admits honestly.

Bella places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Hannibal wants to frown. Usually, people are not so free in touching him. “I won’t tell a soul,” she promises, and he believes her. “I’ll admit that sometimes, I would like to hide my status as well. Not to Jack,” she quickly adds, “never. But for every ten decent folk, there is always one bigot. And that can just be the one to ruin everything.”

Hannibal hums in agreement, turning around to face Bella fully, dislodging her hand. She takes the hint and lets her hands dangle freely.

“What does it mean to you?” Hannibal asks, genuinely curious. “Being Submissive?”

“It means trust,” Bella answers, trailing her hands along the many bottles of wine stacked high along the walls. “Trusting Jack to take care of what I need. But also him trusting me to give him what he needs.”

Hannibal cocks his head.

“Don’t let them fool you,” Bella says with a teasing smile. “Dominants need just as much reassurance and praise as Submissives. Just in a different way.”

The air of the cellar is cool against Hannibal’s skin. He listens attentively as Bella speaks. “Dominants need to have someone to take care of, someone to please and be pleased by in return. Without a Submissive – or a substitute, like a child or a pet – Dominants can feel… meaningless. Purposeless. It is the Submissive who gives the Dominant something to protect.”

“Do you consider yourself equal to Jack?”

Bella’s eyes are piercing. “I do. As should any healthy couple, in my opinion.” At Hannibal’s sceptical look, Bella elaborates. “Yes, even those Subs who like to sit at their Dom’s feet whenever possible have Doms who feel uneasy whenever their Sub is not close by. A true relationship should always be two parties who give and take equally; whose desires are mirrors of the other.”

Bella averts her eyes. “Of course, I am aware not all relationships work like that. I hold a more modern view than some of the traditionalists, but it is not an uncommon one. Jack agrees with me.” She shoots him a quick smile. “When I submit, I am free. I do not have a care in the world, and I know that any need I have, Jack will do his best to meet.”

A moment of silence follows. Bella leans back against a nearby barrel, relaxing.

“So in your experience,” Hannibal summarizes slowly, choosing his words with care, “you do not feel as if you are lesser than your Dom. Because his task is to fulfil your needs, and though your needs may be submissive in nature, he is still the one working to fulfil your desires.”

“And in turn, I fulfil his,” Bella adds gently. “And I want to. When Jack praises me, I enjoy it, and I know that he enjoys it as well.”

Hannibal muses over her words, surprised to find himself playing with the lapels of his jacket. He forces his hands back down. “And sometimes,” he adds, thinking of Will, “your Dominant knows what you need before you yourself do.”

Bella turns to him with a genuine smile. “If they’re a good Dom, they do.”

 _Jack is really lucky to have her,_ Hannibal thinks. _Bella is an insightful woman_.

“I won’t ask what happened to you that made you hide your dynamic as you do,” Bella adds, and Hannibal feels his shoulders tense. The flash of memory is short, but strong. A cabin in the woods, his sister cowering behind him, men entering the cabin with teeth bared, **_sit down and shut up_**. Hannibal, obeying without understanding why.

“But no one hides themselves like that without reason.”

Hannibal blinks, back in the present. Bella is watching him with heavy eyes.

“I just want you to realize that there are plenty of good and kind Dominants out there. Doms who want nothing more than to please you, take care of you and make you feel safe.”

The words should be trite, meaningless. As a therapist, he knows such reassurances are superfluous, empty, rote. They should fall flat, maybe even make him angry.

They don’t. They aren’t.

“Like Will,” Hannibal says before he can stop himself.

“Yes,” Bella says.

Hannibal feels his chest tighten. Leans back against the wall. The coolness is pleasant against his back.

His mouth moves without his permission. “What can I do to be a good Submissive?”

When the words are spoken, Hannibal swallows heavily. He is Hannibal Lecter. He is not unsure about anything, and he needs anyone’s advice even less.

Apparently, Will is, once again, the exception to this rule.

“There is no good or bad Submissive,” Bella says gently, and Hannibal soothes himself with thinking that this will make Jack even more convinced of his innocence. “But there is a general rule that may be useful to you.”

Hannibal looks up.

“There is a difference,” Bella explains, “between your Dom making you submit to him, and you submitting freely and out of your own will. Showing your Dom that you want to submit to him, chose it without question – well. It will certainly halt him in his tracks.”

The smile playing around her mouth is not pitying at all, even though Hannibal knows what she must be – correctly – thinking. Hannibal has never submitted to Will out of his own initiative.

Bella has been surprisingly helpful. Kind. Polite.

Hannibal decides right then and there that if Bella ever asks him for a favour, he will give it to her.

* * *

“Have you seen Bella?”

Mrs. Komeda turns around at the same time as Will as Jack approaches them both.

“She’s around here, somewhere,” Will answers non-committedly.

“I haven’t seen her in a while,” Jack says, a little concerned.

“Phyllis seems like a woman who can surely take care of herself, like any decent Submissive,” Mrs. Komeda comments airily, shooting Will a smirk. “Right?”

Will simply inclines his head.

“For that matter, I haven’t seen Dr. Lecter in a while, either,” Jack comments next, searching the crowd currently mingling in Hannibal’s foyer with a policemen’s eye.

Will shrugs. “I’m his partner, not his keeper,” he says evenly, smiling wryly as Jack frowns at him.

“I’m going to find them,” Jack says, walking off.

“What an old-fashioned Dom,” Mrs. Komeda comments neutrally.

Will sighs. “Jack’s a good man,” he says, “but he tends to be… overly concerned. It’s worse with Phyllis, of course, but he can be like that towards his team as well.” _As long as they solve their cases quickly, of course,_ he adds mentally. “But his heart is in the right place.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad you are so unlike him,” Mrs. Komeda adds with a glint in her eye. Will gives her an uncomfortable smile.

“I, uh, am indeed not very old-fashioned,” he agrees broadly. Though Will’s not exactly playing a Sub tonight, he is playing the part of a non-dynamic. He thinks.

Mostly, he’s going with Hannibal’s flow.

“I have known Hannibal for a very long time” Mrs. Komeda says. “And I am glad he has finally found a partner who will treat him like he deserves.”

Will looks at her for a long moment.

His lips curl into a smile.

“I’m glad,” he says warmly and takes another sip.

* * *

Hannibal is still mulling over Bella’s answer to his unexpected question – unexpected to himself, that is – when the cellar door opens.

“Bella?”

It’s Jack. He sounds worried, though he is covering it up admirably. Hannibal sighs, already anticipating how Bella is going to bend her neck.

The head of the BAU descends the stairs swiftly, body tense. As soon as he catches sight of the pair of them leaning against opposite walls, looking for all the world like they are just having a normal though emotional conversation – which is the truth, for once – his whole body relaxes.

“There you are,” he says with only a little relief in his voice. “And Dr. Lecter,” giving Hannibal a respectful nod.

Bella, to Hannibal’s surprise, only folds her arms. “Yes, here I am,” she says with amusement. “Dr. Lecter and I were having a private conversation, if you do not mind.”

“And choosing the wine,” Hannibal adds charmingly even as his respect for Bella grows.

“A private conversation?” Jack asks.

“Nothing for a Dominant to concern himself with,” Bella adds pointedly, though she softens it with a smile.

“Oh,” Jack says awkwardly. “Apologies,” he says to them both, and he means it. Hannibal feels the last remaining nuggets of suspicion dissipate into dust. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Bella adds kindly as she shoots her husband a fond look. Jack returns it with equal favour before gently closing the door behind him.

“You see?” she asks Hannibal as soon as Jack is gone. “He cares for me, but he does not dictate every aspect of my life. Mind you, I’d have been a lot more submissive if there was anyone else with us,” she adds conspiratorially, “but that is because I know Jack cares about his reputation. And he knows that I know that. We care for each other.”

Hannibal nods.

They set out to choose a wine.

“There is one last thing I am wondering, if you don’t mind my curiosity,” Bella asks him after they have chosen and are preparing to go back upstairs.

Hannibal dusts his knees off from where he was inspecting the bottles and looks up. “You may always ask,” he allows gracefully.

“Tonight, Will played the part of your Submissive near-perfectly. Anyone who does not know better,” which is almost everyone, “would believe your roles were reversed.”

The question need not be asked. Hannibal decides to indulge her.

“Will has never been one to care much about others’ perception of him,” Hannibal tells her, “or about what society has determined to be Dominant or Submissive behaviour.”

Bella does not say anything.

“And,” Hannibal continues, “it is what I desire. And Will always gives me what I desire.”

Bella smiles. “He must love you very much.”

“He does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is 8.5k of smut and will be posted within a week so if you're not into that, skip the next chapter and this'll be a lovely ending <3 and if you're into it then OH BOY LETS GOOOO

**Author's Note:**

> If you like sub!hannibal come find us at [discord](discord.gg/MGyUQvY)
> 
> Comments and kudos are love <3 Writers are thirsty bitches.


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